Why are crooks often quicker to act than the righteous?
The dishonest steward falsified records, gave away property that was not his own – and was praised by the Lord. This striking parable reveals what we are meant to do with money.
Picture the courtyard of a large estate somewhere between Jericho and Emmaus in the heat of the afternoon. At the gate stand tenants and debtors, summoned one by one with unusual urgency.
Deep in the courtyard, beneath the shade of a canopy, sits a steward with a reed pen before him. Spread out across the table are scrolls containing debt records, each sealed with wax. He calls the first debtor.
“How much do you owe my master?”
“One hundred measures of oil.”
“Take your bill, sit down quickly, and write fifty.”
That word – quickly – captures the tension of the entire scene.
The steward is in a hurry because he has already been dismissed, yet news of his dismissal has not spread. He has only a few hours left before his signature loses all legal authority. The ink on the revised document has barely dried when the second debtor enters the courtyard.
An unexpected commendation
Then something astonishing happens.
When the master discovers the fraud, he does not summon the guards or drag the steward into court. Instead, he commends him.
And after telling this story, Christ adds that “the sons of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than the sons of light.”
We are accustomed to Gospel stories in which the righteous are rewarded and the deceitful are exposed. Here everything seems reversed.
The example set before us is a man who managed his master’s affairs dishonestly, was caught, and then, after his downfall, devised such a clever plan that even the injured party was forced to admire his ingenuity.
To understand why, we need to look at how lending worked in that society.
One hundred measures of oil and the hidden interest
The Torah forbade Jews from charging interest to fellow Israelites: “You shall not charge your brother interest on money, food, or anything that is lent at interest” (Deuteronomy 23:19).
In practice, however, this commandment was often circumvented.
A lender who actually lent fifty measures of oil would record the debt as one hundred. The contract mentioned no interest – only the total amount owed. Formally, the Law remained untouched, consciences stayed quiet, and the additional fifty measures became pure profit. The steward, of course, knew the real figures. He kept the records, managed the accounts, and received his own share of the proceeds.
When he changes the debt from one hundred to fifty, he is not stealing from his master. He is simply removing the unlawful surcharge. The actual debt remains exactly what it had always been.
The master’s dilemma
Now imagine the master returning home that evening. Throughout the district people are praising him: “The master forgave our debts!” “He is merciful!” “He fears God and keeps the Law of our fathers!”
People who had once bowed to him merely out of obligation are now publicly blessing his name.
Could he announce that the new contracts were invalid? Of course. But then he would also have to explain publicly why the original debts were twice as large as they should have been. That would expose his own unlawful profits. His only realistic option is to smile and acknowledge that the steward has trapped him.
The master’s praise is not approval of theft – it is admiration for the resourcefulness of a desperate man who, within a matter of hours, managed to secure his future.
A false security
The word mammon originally meant something like that in which one places trust – a reliable support. It is precisely this false sense of security that Christ calls unrighteous. Not because wealth is evil in itself, but because it deceives us.
Money promises what it can never truly give: safety, stability, control over tomorrow. It whispers that we have plenty of time.
And we believe it.
Those who have lived through war know how fragile that illusion really is. A house into which a family has invested everything can disappear in a single missile strike.
Anyone who has experienced war will never again believe the fairy tale that possessions are a secure foundation.
The parable opens our eyes. Every steward will one day be dismissed.
For some, that moment comes with retirement.
For others – through war.
For every one of us – through death.
A courier who claimed the package as his own
Blessed Theophylact of Bulgaria explains this parable: “We are stewards of what belongs to another and has been entrusted to us by our Master... Whenever we misuse wealth entrusted to us for the needs of our fellow servants and instead appropriate it for ourselves, we become dishonest stewards.”
Imagine a courier entrusted with a sealed briefcase full of money meant as humanitarian aid. The journey is long. Along the way he begins convincing himself that he deserves the money as payment for his work. Why transport such wealth across the country while walking around in worn-out shoes?
So he keeps the money. He buys himself a fine suit. Then another. And later complains to his friends about how hard he had to work for it.
Our money, our homes, our health, our talents – they are all the contents of that briefcase.
We are merely the couriers.
None of these things originated with us. None of them will remain in our hands forever.
The only way not to lose everything is to distribute God’s gifts to those for whom they were intended while we are still alive.
St. John Chrysostom asks bluntly: “God gave us wealth not to lock it away, but to distribute it. Tell me, why do you keep it locked up? So that others may not have it? Yet it does not truly belong to you either if you refuse to share it.”
Which of us is truly more shrewd?
The dishonest steward correctly understood his situation. He acted immediately. He acted decisively. And he showed no mercy toward himself.
Christ does not praise his dishonesty – He rebukes us by pointing to his urgency.
We can spend months studying investment returns, negotiating rent, or calculating an inheritance down to the last hryvnia.
Yet that same careful calculation mysteriously disappears when we think about the treasure that alone will remain with us for eternity.
So who is truly more shrewd – the swindler who managed to rewrite every account within half a day, or we, who so rarely stop to think about our eternal future?
